


it's much more than a physical communication

by likewinning



Series: little beasts [87]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Midnighter (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9169474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: "You ready to arrest us yet?" Grayson teases, and M thinks about putting a bullet in his stupidly flexible knee.





	

"They getting you enough sunlight?" M asks Apollo, pushing some hair out of his eyes. It's getting long now, almost to his shoulders. It was barely past his chin when Apollo came here.

"I'm not a plant, M," Apollo says. He's halfway lucid today, not like sometimes when they have him so doped up he can't even talk. M nearly punched an orderly not too long ago for picking Apollo up like some kind of ragdoll.

"No," M agrees. He takes the brush off Apollo's nightstand and runs it through the tangles in Apollo's hair. Apollo starts humming some Dylan song, soft and low.

"How's work?" Apollo asks.

"Babe," M says. "You know we're not supposed to talk about that."

Apollo looks up at him, hard-eyed like when he'd stare down serial killers from behind the barrel of a gun. "Yeah, well, I'm not supposed to be rotting away in some hospital, so maybe just answer my question."

M sighs. He sets the brush back down and sits next to Apollo on the bed. "I'm getting closer, I think," M says.

"You think," Apollo teases. He used to get so impatient, waiting for M to tell him it was time to move in on someone.

"One of the Wayne boys approached me," M says. "The oldest one."

"Grayson," Apollo says. "I remember. Circus act, right?"

"The Flying Graysons," M says. "All but the kid mysteriously burnt up in that fire years ago."

Apollo nods. "And?" he asks. M clears his throat, looks away.

"M," Apollo says. "What did you do?"

"I fucked him," M mutters, and Apollo snorts.

"That's one way to get in with these people, I guess," he says. He laughs, but M sees the agitation starting up, the way Apollo's legs start twitching. The Wayne’s weren't what brought on his breakdown, but they're not far from what did.

"You think you can turn him against his family?" Apollo asks.

"I don't know," M says. "He's nuts," he says, and Apollo flinches. "Not like you, baby," M says. He kisses the top of Apollo's head, breathes in cheap hospital shampoo. "I don't know if there's anything there."

"He set his parents on fire," Apollo points out. "We always thought the younger one…"

"No," M says. "Too devoted. Dick… drifts," M says.

"Oh, he's Dick now, is he?" Apollo teases.

"Grayson," M amends, scowling. "Doesn't matter, anyhow. I'll get all of them." Years ago, before M took on their case, they got close. Then Dent took a fall for Wayne and they had nothing again. Wayne may be drugged and murderous, but he's careful now - and when he's not that, he has enough money to pay off people.

"Hm," Apollo says. "Keep me posted."

 

*

 

The next time M sees Grayson, he's hanging around at a bar on the East Side, waiting on one of his informants. Grayson walks right up to him like they're old friends, slings his arm around him and gives him a coked-up grin.

"I know you," Grayson says. He smells like cherry schnapps and cheap cologne and his eyes are huge.

"You do," M agrees. He buys Grayson another drink and he spins around on the stool next to him, spearing maraschino cherries with his straw and letting them drop slowly into his mouth.

"You ready to arrest us yet?" Grayson teases, and M thinks about putting a bullet in his stupidly flexible knee.

"Any time now," M says. Grayson giggles, and M says, "No one's untouchable, kid."

" _We_ are," Grayson brags. He takes one of his cherries and rubs it over M's lips, then pops it in his mouth. "You guys oughta spend your time catching the _real_ bad guys."

"Yeah?" M asks. He grabs Grayson by the wrist and pulls him between his thighs. "Like who? Entitled fuckers who think they can off half the city? Arsonists and drug runners? Oh, hold on a minute," he says, "That's _you_."

Grayson doesn't flinch, not at the grip M has on his wrist or anything M says. He grins, bright and perfect, and says, "You big flatterer. You think about us _all_ the time, don't you?"

M scowls, and Grayson laughs because he knows it's true. "I bet you have a _big_ file on us at home. One of those bulletin boards with all our pictures. Dockets for every _one_ of us. And," Grayson says. He leans forward, mouth brushing M's when he says, "You're nowhere _near_ catching any of us."

He slides right out of M's grip, knocks his drink back and slips through the crowd and out of the bar. M digs his nails into his palms and watches him go.

 

*

 

When M gets out of the shower, Grayson's perched on his bed with M's phone in his hand.

"You know," M says. "I could get you for breaking and entering right now."

"Maybe," Grayson says. "You know, if I broke anything. Your window was open."

M stares at him. "You climbed," he says. Grayson nods. "We're eight floors up, Grayson."

Grayson shrugs. "Acrobat," he says like that explains everything. He swipes through M's phone and asks, "Who's the blonde?"

"None of your fucking business," M says. He grabs for the phone and almost loses his towel in the process, and Grayson rolls out of his way.

"He's pretty," Grayson says. "Boyfriend?"

"No," M lies. The last thing he needs is Grayson having anything on him. "How did you get into my phone?"

"Tim," Grayson sing-songs. "He said for an FBI guy your password was _stupid_ easy."

"Maybe you're just the first case that ever broke into my apartment."

"I bet I'm the first case that did a lot of things with you," Grayson says, and he winks.

"Get out," M says.

"You sure?" Grayson asks. He stands up, and he barely reaches M's shoulder. He circles the edge of M's towel with his finger. "I mean, you're already undressed. You did half the work for me."

M bites the inside of his cheek, hard. "Don't you have one of your little criminal friends to play with instead?"

"Wally's out of town," Grayson pouts. "Roy's with Tim. Jason's working, and Bruce is playing with the new kid."

M sits down on the bed, looks up at him. "Tell me about the new kid," he says. He doesn't have a file on this one yet; Bruce only seems to use him for the away jobs. Grayson grins.

"I like Terry," he says. "He's a lot of fun. Jason and Tim hate him, though."

"Why's that?" M says, and Grayson tilts his head at him, then uses his shoulders for leverage as he crawls into his lap.

"Thing about our little group," Grayson says, "is everyone always gets so _jealous_."

"But you don't," M says.

"Nah," Grayson says. "Why should I? I always get what I want."

"And that's why you're here, instead of with any of them," M points out, and Grayson bares his teeth.

"Everyone's being _boring_ ," Grayson says. "It used to be more fun."

Grayson thinks about it. "This one time," he says. He grinds his ass down against M, starting a rhythm. "Roy and I took baby Jay out to Star City for the first time. We stole this yacht right off the dock, sailed it for miles along the shoreline getting high as shit." Grayson licks his lips, runs his fingers through the wet strands of M's hair. "Jay let me light it up when we were done trashing it. It was so _pretty_ , M." His eyes are lit up brighter than Christmas lights just thinking about it, and M's starting to get why no one could close this case before.

That doesn't mean he's giving up.

He's not giving up, but he lets Grayson rock back and forth on him until he comes, and then Grayson giggles and crawls back off of him.

"I could take that as a confession, you know," M says, and Grayson laughs.

"You could," Grayson says. "If you knew for sure a word of that was true."

He somersaults off the bed toward the open window, then tosses back M's phone. "Tell Apollo I said hello."

 

*

 

"Maybe we should move you," M says.

"Move me?" Apollo asks. "Why, because the big scary circus boy knows my name?"

"He killed his own parents," M says. It's a sunny day, so they're sitting out on the grounds. Apollo has a book in his lap and his head in M's. "And yes, that's _exactly_ why. These people, Apollo -"

"You'll get them," Apollo says. He shrugs. 

"He knows I'm after them. He knows who you are. He could come after you to -"

"Mm, no," Apollo says. "I mean, maybe," he amends when M looks down at him. "But I don't think so."

"So what do you think?" M asks. "That he's fucking with me?"

"I mean, obviously," Apollo says. He sits up, reaches out and pats M's cheek. "You're a little obsessed with him, huh," he teases, and M bats his hand away.

"Fuck off," M says, and Apollo laughs and kisses him. He tastes like toothpaste and the candy M sneaks in for him, and when M cups his cheek it's warm from the sun.

"I know you, you know," Apollo says. "I know how you get. I bet you're not sleeping right. Not _eating_ right."

"I'm -" M grumbles, and Apollo shushes him.

"You follow him?" Apollo asks.

"Yes," M says.

"What about the others?"

"They're not -" _as important_ , M almost says, but he knows how that might sound. "He's the key, baby. He's the one who's gonna break this all open."

"So then let him find me if he wants," Apollo says. "Dangle your personal life in front of him. You know everything about him, and if you want to catch him, it's only fair."

"I want to catch _all_ of them," M insists, and Apollo smiles at him, his eyes haldol-heavy.

"Sure you do," Apollo says.

 

*

 

"Would it be a terrible pun to tell you you're playing with fire?" Roy asks. They're playing cards on Roy's kitchen floor since it's the only somewhat clean surface in the house, and Dick's been telling Roy about his FBI guy.

"Maybe," Dick says. "But I _like_ terrible puns. And fire." He winks.

"Ha," Roy says. He rolls his eyes. "I noticed. But I _mean it_ , Dickie. You could get us all busted."

"I won't," Dick says. "I'm being careful."

"Dickie," Roy says. He lays down a couple cards. "This is me. I've seen you literally set yourself on fire. Define _careful_."

"You worry too much," Dick says. He scoops some Sour Patch Kids out of the bag by his feet and shoves a handful into his mouth. "And you haven't _seen_ this guy, Roy."

"He's a _Fed_ , Dickie. I don't need to see him." Roy throws his cards down in disgust when Dick grins at him with a winning hand. "What's Bruce gonna do when he finds out, huh?"

"Maybe he'll be thrilled," Dick says. He shrugs. "When I get this guy on our side -"

" _If_ ," Roy corrects, and Dick waves his hand.

"Man," Dick says. He lays back on the floor and spreads his legs. "I haven't been fucked like _that_ in a while, you know?"

"Jesus," Roy says. He gathers up the cards and shoves them out of the way, then crawls between Dick's legs and stares down at him.

"What?" Dick asks.

"Dunno, man," Roy says. He laughs. "I've just never seen you actually _want_ something this bad. It's cuz he told you to fuck off, isn't it?" Dick flips him off and tries to push him out of the way. "It _is_ ," Roy says. He climbs on Dick's chest, and Dick whines and says, " _Roy_."

"Poor baby," Roy teases. "The big bad FBI guy doesn't want seconds, huh?" He cups Dick's chin. "Gotham's little prince just doesn't know what to do with himself."

"Asshole," Dick says, but he can't meet Roy's eyes. It's true, though. No one's ever said no to him, not since - since -

Bruce used to all the time, before Jay.

"Look," Roy says. He slides down Dick's body, kisses the patch of stubble on his cheek. "Just promise me you won't get us all arrested, okay?"

"I'll try," Dick says. He squeezes Roy's hips, pushes his shirt up. "But you know," he says. "I never set a prison on fire before."

Roy bites his chin.

 

*

 

"Your little boyfriend came by to see me today," Apollo says. He called M from the payphone at the hospital. It's 3AM, about the time Apollo's meds usually wear off for the night.

"Fuck," M says. "How did he get in?" he asks, and Apollo laughs. M gets up to start the coffee maker; it's not like he'll be getting back to bed any time soon.

"Dressed up like a cute little orderly," Apollo says. "You weren't kidding, babe. He's _beautiful_."

"You knew that," M says.

"Sure, from the pictures," Apollo says. "But I never saw him up close or anything."

"What did he," M swallows. "What happened?"

"Not a lot," Apollo says. M hears him tap on the receiver. "He bounced around my room for a while, offered me a line."

M snorts. "Did he threaten you?"

"Course not," Apollo says. "I'm not sure he'd even know how. He's not like _Wayne_."

"Maybe not, but he's still a psychopath. Next time I see him I'm arresting him."

"For what, doing backflips and talking my ear off?" Apollo asks.

"No. For," M stammers. "For -"

"M," Apollo says. "He knows we've got next to nothing. He knows he's under your skin. Best thing you can do is ignore him."

"What, like he's a grade school bully?"

"So then arrest him," Apollo says. "But you'll never get the rest of them that way. He'll never give up his friends."

"We'll see about that," M says.

 

*

 

For weeks, M goes to all of Grayson's usual haunts. He sits in scummy bars in the Bowery, drinks martinis in classy places in Midtown. He wanders around clubs so full of coke he can smell it in the air and once, he even drives past Wayne Manor, the gates the closest he's ever gotten to that little clubhouse of gangsters.

Grayson's not anywhere.

He tries to focus on the others. He follows Harper around, catches sight of Todd and Dent near the penthouse where Dent's been living. Grayson isn't with any of them, either. M hits up all of his contacts, but none of them know a thing. When he tells Apollo, he laughs down the line.

He's putting together a docket with what he knows about McGinnis when he gets a text from one of his guy's that Grayson's been spotted at a club down on Mississippi. He drops everything to throw on a pair of good jeans, fix his hair and speed down side streets to catch up with him.

Grayson's on the dance floor when he gets to the club, grinding up against West. His mouth looks wet from lipgloss and when he tips his head up his neck is covered in glitter. When he feels M's eyes on him he grins at him across the dance floor, kisses West on the cheek and lets him go.

"Wanna dance?" Grayson asks when he sidles up to M and M's supposed to say no, supposed to grab him by the neck and drag him down to the police station for something, anything, but his mouth goes dry and he lets Grayson drag his ass back against him, skinny hips moving like they don't know how to do anything else.

"You've been gone," M says. Hand under Grayson's tiny sparkly top, mouth on Grayson's collar bone.

"Maybe I took a vacation," Grayson says.

"That what all those house fires in Sicily were about?" M asks.

"Mm," Grayson says. He turns around, loops his arms around M's neck. His eyes are coke-bright and he grins like he might take a bite out of M and not say sorry. "You missed me, huh?"

"My house hasn't been broken into in weeks," M says. "What's to miss?"

"Why don't you let me show you?" Grayson asks and M only follows him to the back of the club because he's going to bust this whole organization of crazies, because he's going to get them all, leave Gotham and never come back to this town.

That's why he lets Grayson lead him to a back room, tacky bright couches and dim lights and Grayson jumps into his arms, kisses him between giggles and M bites down on his lip, bites down on his pretty neck, throws him right to the floor and climbs on top of him.

"This how you're gonna catch me?" Grayson asks. He sprawls out under M, legs stretched and arms above his head. His nails are painted electric blue and there's a burn scar on his wrist, probably self-inflicted out of boredom.

M pushes Grayson's shirt up, scrapes his nails along where his skin meets his tight, tight jeans. "Tell me what you want from me," he says, and it's not supposed to sound so desperate, so lost. Somewhere Apollo is laughing at him. Maybe they'll have a room for M right nextdoor.

"You really don't know," Grayson says. He laughs as he wraps his legs around him, laughs as he flips them over and lands with his hands splayed out on M's chest.

"You can't just," M says. Grayson gets his jeans open, squirms out of his and tosses them across the room. He sits back against M's dick and his eyes roll back and M needs to be _in_ him, needs -

Needs to -

"You can't just have anything you want," M says, and Grayson laughs and guides him in, huffs out a breath.

"I can," Grayson says. "And so can you."

Grayson rides him without mercy, scrapes his nails down M's chest as the music from the club thumps around them. M sits up and bites Grayson's throat, laves at the little specks of blood as he thrusts up into him, howl's into Grayson's shoulder when he comes. He throws him off him then, lays him out on the floor and swallows his dick and Grayson laughs and laughs and beats the floor with his fist.

When M lets him go, Grayson digs into his jeans pocket and sprinkles out a line of coke. "You want?" he asks, and M glares at him.

Grayson shrugs. "You could probably go again if you did," he teases, and M grabs him by the legs, pulls him back into his lap and squeezes his dick.

"Who says I can't?" M asks, and Grayson tugs his hair and wraps his legs around his waist, grinding against M's dick and M's half-hard again just from the smell of him, sweat and coke and some fruity shampoo.

"You know," Grayson says. He reaches back for M's jeans and takes the gun out of his holster. M sucks in a sharp breath as Grayson brings the gun up to his mouth. "Bruce always says there isn't _that_ much difference between a cop and a crook."

M eases the gun out of Grayson's hand. His heart pumps like amphetamines and his mouth waters but he lifts Grayson off of him, stands up and tugs his jeans back on.

"There's enough," M says. He stumbles out of the club with Grayson's laughter still ringing in his ears, his scent all over him. When he licks his lips, he can still taste Grayson's lipgloss.


End file.
